


all good stories (the bad guys get what they deserve)

by gayblockz (lizandre)



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dream gets his shit rocked, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Past Abuse, Meta, Older Brother Wilbur Soot, Protective Wilbur Soot, Resurrectbur, Resurrected Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot Apologises, Wilbur Soot Tries to Be a Better Brother, Wilbur Soot Tries to Be a Better Person, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, dream gets what he deserves, implied/referenced past manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28716087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizandre/pseuds/gayblockz
Summary: "You know what I got for being the villain?”Wilbur gestures to his chest, where Dream can almost picture the giant scar.“It’s only fair you get your own, too.”***Wilbur is resurrected, and has a bone to pick with Dream.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 9
Kudos: 413





	all good stories (the bad guys get what they deserve)

**Author's Note:**

> i am manifesting protective resurrectbur so hard oh my god 
> 
> (yes i'm calling him resurrectbur i think thats funny)

Tommy found out about his brother’s resurrection through a display message.

_Dream was slain by Wilbur Soot._

Millions of questions rushed through his mind.

_You whisper to Wilbur Soot: ghostbur?_

Ghostbur wasn’t the type to murder, let alone murder _Dream_.

_Wilbur Soot whispers to you: no. not ghostbur._

Tommy held his breath. He didn’t believe it.

_Wilbur Soot whispers to you: i’ll explain when i get home, okay?_

Tommy’s brain was mush already. Dream? Wilbur? _Home?_

Trying to process it all, he didn’t even notice how time passed before there was a knock on the door.

He opened sheepishly, afraid of the figure that stood on his porch.

It was Wilbur.

It was definitely him – the smile, the hair, the eyes, everything was the way Tommy remembered. Although, what memories Tommy was referring to specifically, he wasn’t sure. What stood before him wasn’t his soft spoken, pacifist brother, but it also wasn’t the antihero that pressed the button. It was a strange mixture of the two, as if the insane spark from Pogtopia remained, but was directed at other things.

“Hello, Tommy.”

He spoke slowly, and the kid failed to find the words to respond. He opened his mouth, but closed it again. He gulped.

Wilbur laughed lightheartedly at the wordless reaction of his little brother, gently ruffling his hair.

“I’m alive. Again.”

Tommy had no idea how to process that, so instead he tried examining Wilbur further. He wore his long, brown coat on top of his yellow sweater, and the clash of imagery gave Tommy whiplash. He was forced to consider the reality that Ghostbur and the Wilbur he saw at Pogtopia were the same person, and that only confused him further. He took note that there was no weapon on him, which reminded him—

“You killed Dream.”

It was a plain statement, the silent questions only implied.

“That was fifteen minutes ago, Tommy, it’s old news already,” Wilbur tried to laugh it off.

Fifteen minutes?

“How did you get here so quickly?”

Tommy glanced up, making eye contact with his older brother for the first time during the entire conversation.

“I wasn’t that far, actually.”

The response was an absentminded nod. There was a question on the kid’s tongue, and both of them knew it.

“Why did you come here?” Tommy’s voice wavered, but neither of them mentioned it.

“I know what Dream did to you,” the response was plain, honest, and made Tommy stop breathing for a second. “So I gave him what he deserves.”

Tommy knitted his brows together, perplexed, and Wilbur grinned.

“Nobody messes with my younger brother and gets away with it.”

_Except you._

Tommy realized he said the words out loud a second too late, and he clamped both his hands over his mouth, in shock. He slowly looked up to the hazel eyes.

To his surprise, there was no anger.

“You’re not in the wrong to hate me,” Wilbur smiled weakly, with a sigh. “I hurt you. You did not deserve what I did to you. And I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me, but I hope one day I can make it up to you.”

Tommy broke down crying.

He locked Wilbur into a tight hug, clenching his fists as tight as he can. He didn’t forgive his older brother yet, not even a bit.

But he was glad to have him back.

* * *

Dream is unquestionably going to get haunted by this experience for the rest of his life.

He is on his journey to his house – his real house – thousands of miles away from the Greater Dream SMP. He needs time to rest, to regroup, to lure the people of L’Manburg – to lure _Tommy_ – into a false sense of security, to strike when they just barely regain their hope, when they start trying to rebuild again.

All their hopes will get systematically destroyed over and over again, of course, but in order for them to truly experience pain they need the light. In every good story, the plot has both ups and downs, and Dream wants to be a good narrator.

A whistle catches him off guard, and he turns around, alert.

_There weren’t supposed to be people here._

“Hello, Dream.”

Who stands before him is unmistakably _the one_ – _the_ leader, _the_ commander, _the_ composer. His curly brown hair is unkempt under the black beanie, his long, brown coat is cleaner than when Dream last saw him, the sweater underneath is a muted yellow colour, and he’s standing upright, with his hands behind his back, smiling almost innocently. Dream knows better than to fall for it.

“Wilbur,” he nods, carefully. “You’re alive.”

_That was not how it went._

“You _could_ say that, yes,” Wilbur’s answer is strangely cryptic, but speaking with a greater degree of mystery than what actually hides behind is in character for him. It’s shallow, but at least it makes him _seem_ interesting.

“How did you find me?” Dream cuts straight to the chase, not wanting to get dragged down into another false-deep narrative.

“How _you_ usually find people, of course,” the smooth voice sends chills down Dream’s spine.

He can’t be talking about..? No. There’s no way. It’s not even a possibility. 

“What do you want from me?” He straightens up, trying to be confident. Wilbur’s words are strange, but he is still below. Dream still towers above him, just like with the rest of the server.

“I know what you did to Tommy, Dream,” he smiles, but he doesn’t even pretend it’s kind this time. “And personally, I like the stories where the bad guys _get what they deserve._ ”

Dream laughs.

“Well, then, I’m sorry, but _this_ story isn’t for you,” he sends a threatening smile back, and the manic arrogance kicks in once again, like it always does. Being threatened, he feels in his element. “I can politely send you back to the afterlife, if you would like.”

Wilbur scoffs, putting on a sarcastic pout.

“There’s no afterlife, Dream,” a grin splits his lips. “I thought _you_ , of all people, would know that.”

There he goes again, saying weird things that Dream doesn’t understand.

_He wasn’t even meant to be here._

“What are you on about, Wilbur?” he grows more frustrated by the second. “Why are you so confident about this? Aren’t you scared of dying again?”

The undead man lets out a controlled laugh, covering his mouth with a hand, and somehow that just makes it more infuriating.

“By _your_ hands? Not a chance.”

“What do you mean?” Dream hisses, not trying to conceal his irritation anymore.

His mind wonders to what Wilbur said earlier about how he found him.

No. There is no chance. Wilbur does not have what Dream has.

“I have what you have, Dream,” he smirks, and the green beast’s confidence shatters in a flash.

He isn’t talking about—

“The script, Dream. I have it too.”

_What._

“You’re— you’re lying!” Dream scrambles back in disbelief. “You’re bluffing! It’s— it’s not true—”

“Why would I lie, Dream?” Wilbur takes a step forward, and then another step. “I have it. You have no upper hand right now.”

He stumbles back again, almost falling onto the ground. He can only mutter:

“H— How?”

Wilbur giggles, cruelty twinkling in his eyes.

“I was dead, Dream. _Really_ dead,” he cocks his head, mockingly. “How do you think _he_ got it in the first place?”

Dream asked that question, before.

**_“How did you get it?”_ **

**_He is holding a leather book, seemingly regular._ **

**_“I have my ways,” Schlatt is saying to him, intoxicated eyes gleaming with mystery._ **

He didn’t spend time dwelling on that question, after that. The guy died, he figured there was no way to find out.

“Death grants a certain wisdom,” Wilbur takes out a netherite sword, stroking it gently. “It’s nothing to be scared of, really.”

_This wasn’t how the story was written._

“Why do you think you can take me on?” Dream yells out, adrenaline pumping through his veins for the first time in months. “Even if you’re _aware_ doesn’t mean you’re _capable_ of doing it!”

“Don’t worry.”

Dream notices the fact that Wilbur was approaching only now, when they’re face to face, close enough to feel each other’s breaths, a sword poking him right in the stomach.

“A good writer sticks to their themes, Dream. They stick to their parallels, to their lessons. You know what I got for being the villain?”

He gestures to his chest, where Dream can almost picture the giant scar.

“It’s only fair you get your own, too.”

Dream feels the cool blade penetrate his skin, cutting through him like butter. The last thing he sees is the callous smile of the new storyteller.

* * *

Wilbur will clean the blood off his blade, and toss it aside, carelessly. He will ignore the countless names flashing by him, asking what happened, cheering in confusion, and inquiring if Dream really died.

He won’t ignore one name, and one name only.

He will set out immediately, and he will go home.

He will arrive there unusually quickly.

“I wasn’t that far, actually,” he will assure. His brother will misunderstand.

And when he’ll be watching the sunset that night, he will close his eyes, smiling in bliss.

It’s about time some new writers came to town.

**Author's Note:**

> theory creds: https://rubixpsyche.tumblr.com/post/639734931717750785/expanding-on-the-schlatts-book-made-dream
> 
> basic rundown: you remember that book that made dream protect schlatt during the manburg war? that book was the script, dream is now self aware, hence why his actions are so much more "evil" (because he realizes it doesn't truly matter), why nobody can outsmart him anymore, why he seems to be omnipresent and seems to know everything. 
> 
> my addition to the theory is that the way you get the script/self awareness in the first place is by perma dying, i.e. when schlatt got banned it was basically a perma death, as he didn't respawn, and was only able to come back when that "death" was undone. that's how he got the script, which he later traded to dream in exchange for protection. 
> 
> what this means is that wilbur, when he perma died, also gained self awareness and the script. that's why ghostbur breaks the fourth wall so much - because he is self aware. it also means that resurrected wilbur also has the script and is self aware, meaning dream is no longer the only one with that advantage. 
> 
> ANYWAY. now that i have this out of my system, i can go back to writing my multi chapter. 
> 
> thank you for reading!
> 
> please leave a kudos if you enjoyed, and comments are very motivating <3


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